The Viking's Witch (6 page)

“I suppose, but—”

“
Gut.
Now bear these things in mind for the rest of tonight and any other night you lie here next to me. You would not wish to cross me.”

He burst out laughing. “Cross you? And if I did, what would you do? Hex me? Cause me to stub my toe? Perhaps you would tear out the four remaining hairs on my chest?”

“Do not mock me. I cursed this village with a fate worse than death, and moments later your men appeared out of the darkness. If I set me mind to it, I could render you incapable of using that meaty sword between your legs. Or if I wish, I could make you have terrible dreams each time you close your eyes.”

A prickle of fear raced up his back. Both of those things were already true. But how could Odaria know that? Did she have the power to see into his mind? Is that why she kept staring into his eyes?

He rolled over and turned his back to Odaria. Right now, he didn’t dare look at her. He was afraid he’d see her eyes glowing in the dark again.

“It is late. Cast no more spells tonight, my little witch. Go to sleep. The sun will rise in a few hours.”

He closed his eyes. Exhausted or not, he didn’t think he would get much sleep lying next to Odaria. Deep down, a part of him believed she spoke the truth. Nordmenn were known for being brave and strong, and they feared very little in their lives—except witches.

Odaria listened to the deep growling sounds coming from Rothgar’s throat. He had fallen asleep on his back and was snoring loud enough to wake the dead. She shifted her weight on the scratchy straw mattress to see if he would stir. He did not move. She raised herself onto her elbows and studied him in the moonlight.

His high cheekbones accented his lean face, and his honey-blond beard gave him a rugged appearance. She noticed something glimmering around his neck and leaned closer to get a better look. The odd, axe-shaped silver pendant hung from a thin chain. She had never seen anything like it. What was it supposed to be? It looked nothing like the knots on the brooch he’d given her.

She glanced at Rothgar’s sleeping figure and lay back down. He was no threat to her now. Although he had kept his word and protected her tonight, what would happen to her tomorrow? Rothgar was a big brute, and only by the mercy of the gods had she been spared his affections tonight. Would he try to sate his lust inside her when he woke in the morning? What would she do if he kissed her again?

She shoved that thought from her mind. This was no time to dwell on foolish notions. She had more important concerns. As long as she remained in the village, she was in danger. If Brennan found her or if a Norseman took hold of her, she’d be done for. Now more than ever, she needed to find a way off the isle. But how?

If she took a boat from one of the villagers, she could sail away to Rousay, Shapinsay, or even the mainland—but she’d never been off Stronsay in her life. She had no idea how to navigate the sea, and the thought of being surrounded by all that deep, cold water terrified her.

Rothgar’s mouth dropped open, and his loud snores broke through her thoughts. She glanced at him and grinned. She might know nothing of ships and sailing, but he did. The Norsemen had sailed all the way here without becoming lost at sea. Rothgar must have a boat somewhere. He could take her off the isle.

She stared at the ceiling as she devised her plan. To make Rothgar do her bidding, she would need to be bold and quick-witted come morning. Rothgar was clever and wouldn’t be tricked easily. If she faltered, or if something went wrong …

But what more could happen to her? If her plan failed, how much more miserable would she be? After nearly being roasted alive and facing down a horde of Norsemen, what did she have left to fear?

Chapter Four

Rothgar bent over the basin and splashed water on his face. The icy liquid jolted his body awake, but his head felt as if it were stuffed with moss. He took a small piece of white soap off the top of the chest of drawers. The soap had red hairs stuck to it.
Disgusting.
He grimaced as he pulled the coarse hairs free, then washed his face. Nothing put him in a grouchy mood more than washing with cold water. Back home, warm water was always available for bathing.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His empty stomach rumbled, and his temples throbbed as if Thor himself were beating on him with his hammer. He had indulged in too much drink and then made a damn fool of himself with Odaria.

What had come over him last night? He recalled the wise phrase, “Be most cautious with beer and another man’s wife.”
Ja
.
The bjorr
. Although it had been months since he’d gotten good and drunk, he’d never tried to force his advances on a woman before. Had the sudden burst of life from his shaft driven him mad with lust? Did the tingle of excitement he felt when he kissed Odaria make him lose his senses?

Whatever the cause, she had won out. A Pict had bested him. A Picttish witch, no less. He chuckled. Did Odaria expect him to be afraid of her so-called witchery? If she’d wanted to scare him, she had failed. Despite her threats of hexes, he’d slept like a stone. For the first time in years, he hadn’t been haunted by horrible dreams. In fact, he’d dreamt—

“Is this a fatal spot?”

He stiffened as he felt a cold blade press against his side. His gaze flickered across the top of the chest of drawers. By the gods, how could he have not noticed? His silver dagger was missing. Damn that wench! Odaria had stolen the dagger while he slept. How long had she been lying awake and waiting to pounce? How had she crept up behind him?

“Is this a fatal spot?”

“
Ja
. Take care not to spill my blood, wench.” He straightened up a little and glanced over his right shoulder. Odaria stood behind him, the dagger clenched in her left hand, tip poised to do damage with one thrust. “I harmed you not last night. What have you of me?”

“Harmed me not? You laid upon me, crushed the air from my chest, and rammed your foul tongue into my mouth. You would have done worse if—”

“The more a man drinks, the less control he has over his actions. Best learn that lesson now, Odaria. Put the dagger down.”

“Nay. I’ve captured me a sea raider and—”

“If I yell, every man downstairs will run up here and descend upon you.”

“Not before I shove this blade into your innards.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Women. It was futile to argue with them, but he wanted to keep Odaria talking. It would distract her. “What do you wish of me?”

“To do my bidding.”

He laughed. “Is this a spell, little witch? Am I to lose all sense of reason and obey your commands?”

“Do not mock me.” She poked him with the point of the blade. “You will—”

“I will give you a sore bottom if you do not remove the dagger from my ribs, sorceress.”

He straightened up a little more. The moment Odaria removed the blade from beneath his ribs, he would show her exactly what happened to pretty witches who played with daggers.

“You will take me away from here, unharmed, in one of your boats … or else.”

He turned to her. Is that what she wanted? It seemed an odd request. “Or else what?”

“Or else I shall … I shall kill all of your men.”

He laughed, then spun to the right and snatched the dagger from Odaria’s left hand. In a flash, he whirled her around and pinned her against the wall. Her green eyes widened as he bent close.

“Open your ears, girl. As I have said before, they are Karnik’s men, not mine. And I see no need to promise what I’ve already decided. You are coming home with me. Whether you agree to it or not.”

She squirmed against him. “Set me free.”

He waved the dagger under her nose. “Learn this lesson, little witch. If you are going to stab a man, stab him and be done with it. Do not talk him to death.”

Odaria narrowed her eyes. “I should have slain you while you slept, wretched sea monster.”

He grinned. “It takes great courage for a woman to draw a dagger on a man. Especially when it is his own dagger.” In a way, he admired her bravery. What other woman would be so bold—or so foolish?

Odaria glared at him again, and the gold flecks in her eyes seemed to glow. “There shall be no bargains between us, Pict. I have already decided your fate.”

She struggled in his grip, and he pressed his body against hers to settle her. To his surprise, heat surged between his legs. A moment later, blood flooded his groin, hardening him. He felt his cock straining against the front of his breeches.

“Let me go. Your sword is poking me.”

He laughed and leaned a little closer to Odaria. By the gods, it felt good to be rendered capable again. After his blade had wilted last night, he’d feared it would never rise again. “My broadsword is in the corner. This,” he said, thrusting his hips against hers, “is a sword of a different kind.”

Odaria whimpered. “I’m sorry about drawing the dagger against you. But I werena gonna hurt you. I merely wanted a boat so I might leave this place.”

He took a step back, stunned. All Odaria wanted was to leave the isle? “Lucky for you, girl, we think alike. I am taking you with me. I have no intention of leaving you behind.”

His words were true. Last night he had decided to bring Odaria home with him, but not as a thrall to be sold in the marketplace to the highest bidder. She would be his prize, his one treasure from Pictland. It didn’t matter to him why she wanted to leave her homeland, only that her willingness to go would make their journey easier.

Odaria gazed into his eyes. “You mean it?”

“
Ja
.” He nodded. “If you obey me.”

She rolled her eyes. “What must I do? Answer more foolish questions?”

He trailed his finger down her pale cheek. His erection was slowly fading away, but he had no doubt it would return in an instant if he kissed Odaria. Being close to her had cured him of his impotence.

“You must not let the men believe that you are untouched, that I spared you last night. You must behave as if I have taken you several times—and you wish more of it.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Nay. I shan’t act as if I’ve welcomed your lustful—”

He silenced her with a kiss and ground his lower body against hers. Her thin chemise did nothing to disguise her nakedness. He moaned as he felt her nipples harden against his bare chest.

Odaria wiggled against him, but it only served to excite him further. His penis had sprung to life again, this time with a need more urgent than ever. If he kept on this way, his pent-up passions would soon explode.

After a moment, Odaria relaxed in his embrace. As he kissed her again, her lips tenderly moved against his. Perhaps if he did not rush her, she would be more accommodating. After all, she was a virgin. She might require more time to warm to his advances.

When her lips parted slightly, he gently eased his tongue into her warm mouth. Odaria went rigid and shoved him away.

“Nay. None of that.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You are disgusting.”

He scowled. Disgusting? He did not understand. Why did she refuse to let him kiss her fully? Perhaps Picts kissed differently, or perhaps Odaria did not know how to feel passion.

“Other Nordmenn who wish to have at you shall not be discouraged so easily. Do you agree to what I have said? Will you behave as if I have taken you and you were delighted?” He needed Karnik’s men to believe that he’d bedded Odaria. Otherwise they would view him as a pathetic weakling and not a true man.

Odaria crossed her arms over her chest. “Aye. Should the other bits of sea filth ask, you have deflowered me … against me will.”

“They will not ask. I am the only Nordmann here who understands the Picttish tongue. Behave as if we are lovers. Allow me to kiss you. I will not have the men believe I spared you. Understand?”

“Aye,” she grumbled.

“
Gut
.” He pulled his tunic over his head and strapped the silver dagger to his waist. “And I expect you to prepare me a large morning meal. I’m starved.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wretched Norseman.”

Odaria stomped down the short flight of stairs ahead of Rothgar and entered the main room. More than a dozen Norsemen were seated around the table, eating and talking. They fell silent and exchanged glances as they caught sight of her.

One of the men looked her up and down, then said something to Rothgar. She recognized the ugly bearded man as one of her attackers from last night. Instinctively, she took a step back and bumped into Rothgar. “What did he say?”

Rothgar draped an arm around her shoulders. “He asked for his turn now that I had finished with you.”

She shuddered and closed her eyes.

Rothgar spoke to the man, then translated for her. “I told him you are very accommodating and I have not yet taken my fill of your pleasures.” He gave her a light push toward the cookroom. “Now fetch your lover something to eat.”

She folded her arms over her chest to shield herself. It was degrading to walk around in nothing but her linen chemise. The men could see right through it. She ignored the harsh stares of the men and went into the cookroom. “What in the blazes happened in here?”

The cookroom was destroyed. The hungry raiders had slit open sacks of oats and flour, spilled milk on the table, and left empty eggshells scattered on the floor. Did they behave like this at home? She rested her hands on her hips and frowned. The mess could be cleaned up easily, but she had another problem. What did Rothgar like to eat in the morning? Cheese? Fish? She knew nothing about him, and yet she trusted him to take her away from Stronsay forever.

She scooped a large portion of oats into a wooden bowl and carried it into the main room. Rothgar had seated himself at the head of the table and was talking to two men. She sneered as she dumped the oats into a pot of water and set it over the fire. How could he sit there and act friendly to them after what they had tried to do to her?

Her mind wandered as she stirred the oats with a wooden spoon. So far today, nothing had gone according to her plan. How could she have let Rothgar get the better of her this morning? She’d had the dagger in his ribs. Her idea to force Rothgar to take her away on her terms had failed. He was not the least bit intimidated by her, even when she brandished a weapon. He didn’t believe she truly was a witch, and he certainly wasn’t tricked as easily as most people she knew.

If anything, she was falling under Rothgar’s spell. His powerful kisses had weakened her and made her vulnerable. Last night she had kissed him and stroked his chest … and this morning … the moment his lips had touched hers, a burning heat had flared deep inside her private places. Part of her wanted Rothgar to reach up beneath her chemise and …

She shook her head and stared into the fire. Despite the lustful urges Rothgar had awakened in her body, she had to resist him. It was the only way she could regain control of the situation. She would never let Rothgar kiss her again—at least not until she was safely off the isle.

The group of Norsemen burst out laughing behind her. She ignored them as she spooned the cooked oats into the bowl. It was obvious that they were talking about her and Rothgar was joining in on the fun. Was he telling them how he’d carried her upstairs and ravaged her all night? Although she didn’t understand their Norse words, the way they looked at her told her plenty.

She carried the bowl of steaming oats to the table. Rothgar winked as she stepped near, then pulled her closer to him. A man at the table whistled. Rothgar grinned and squeezed her buttocks through her chemise.

“Pig!” She slapped his face and dumped the bowl of hot oats into his lap.

Rothgar bolted from his seat, toppling the chair backward. “How dare you!” He grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her across the room.

“Let me go!” She fought against him, but it was a futile effort. Rothgar was twenty times stronger than she was, and he was enraged.

Rothgar dragged her into the cookroom and slammed the door. In the blink of an eye, he spun her around and shoved her against the door. He bellowed at her in his native language and pounded his fist into the door just above her head.

She shrieked and cringed away from him. Now she’d done it. From the way he sounded, Rothgar was going to kill her. She hadn’t meant to strike him. Protecting herself had been an instinctive reaction.

Rothgar clasped both of her wrists in one hand and raised them over her head. She winced and cried out. Her torn skin was still tender from the rope burns. Rothgar leaned close to her, his nose almost touching hers. She pressed her eyes shut and refused to look at him.

“I tried to reason with you.” He squeezed her wrists harder, and she whimpered. “But you refused to obey. You have made a fool of me.” Rothgar grabbed her chin with his free hand and forced her to look at him. “Now you shall learn who is in charge. I can be tender or terrible. The choice is yours.”